


The Garden Party

by Colubrina



Series: Rare Pair Harry Potter One Shots [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colubrina/pseuds/Colubrina
Summary: Theodore Nott hates garden parties until he finds someone else also hiding in the library.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Series: Rare Pair Harry Potter One Shots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459201
Comments: 22
Kudos: 169





	The Garden Party

Theo wondered how long he had to stay before he could leave. He hated these sorts of garden parties. They had no good points at all, not even the food. He knew a handful of people here, but they were all nodding acquaintances. He didn’t know enough about their lives to ask any kind of interesting questions, and, in truth, he didn’t care enough to listen to the answers. 

He was kind of an arsehole, but at least he _knew_ that. 

He took another long swallow of his punch - not spiked nearly enough - and tried to look as if he were perfectly happy to just lean up against the pretentious greek column all by himself. _No one ever notices that other people are uncomfortable, _he recited in his head as if it were a prayer. _They’re all too busy worrying about themselves._

A witch brushed past him, heels totally unsuitable for a garden party and sinking into the grass. She had an unfortunate neck, thin hair, and had managed to find the only two shades of blue in the world that shouldn’t be worn together. A wizard hurried to catch up with her, tugging at a cravat as sweat stains crept out from under his arms.

Who wore a cravat? 

Oh, god, were people watching him and judging him as cruelly as he was them. Theo glanced down at his shoes - bespoke brown sandals that had cost the earth but spared him having to listen to Blaise talk about his newest bit of arm candy - and decided those were appropriate for the occasion. His linen trousers were fine. He had the perfect outfit on, a drink in his hand, and he’d greeted the hostess with a hostess gift expensive enough to show he cared and impersonal enough it wouldn’t suggest he wanted to sleep with her. He’d done everything right, so why was he so uncomfortable, and when could he leave?

He hated these things.

Maybe if he went inside he could kill a little time looking for a toilet, and then he would have been here long enough that leaving wouldn't be insulting. The children of Death Eaters had to kiss all the right arses and be charming and repentant and never, ever fail to condemn their genocidal parents.

That part was easy at least. His father had been a right fuck up. He’d have traded the man for a pair of Muggle janitors if anyone had made that offer. Unfortunately, even magic couldn’t erase a parent whose ideology had leaned toward the awful and those sins would follow him forever. 

He pulled himself off the column, smiled at a pair of witches as if he knew them, and, sauntered up the gravel walkway. He was a wizard who didn’t have a care in the world. Not a single one. A nod here, a quick bout of genial agreement there, and he escaped into the cool shadows of the manor. His shoes padded along the parquet floors as he pretended to look for the toilet and found himself in the library instead. It was a nice one. The woman who was throwing this shindig clearly liked books. He stepped in, looking guiltily behind him, and eased the door closed. He could relax in here until he could leave. 

He ran his finger along the spines of the books. That one he’d read. That one he hadn’t liked. That one he’d heard good things about. He pulled it free and took a few steps into the room, toward the immaculately upholstered and probably uncomfortable chairs, when he saw a head of bushy hair bent down over a book of her own.

Theo coughed and Hermione Granger looked up.

Hermione bloody Granger. War heroine. Wasn’t she the guest of honor? Great. Just bloody great.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush he had to admit sounded awfully awkward for the woman they were here to fete. “I lost track of time, am I supposed to be -.” She stopped and squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

“We were at school together,” he said. He could feel his throat convulse. She didn’t remember him. That was... humbling. This was probably not the time to tell her how many times he’d wanked off to images of her in his head. She’d been so smart. And hot. But also smart. He had never understood Blaise and his quest for the newest bit of fluff. Once he was done screwing them, what did they talk about?

“Nott,” she said, her face lighting up in a smile that became quickly just as flustered as his own. 

“Theodore,” he said. He sat down and held the book he’d picked out in one hand. There was no place to set his drink down. God, why was he so awkward? “I mean, the last name thing... makes me think I’m back at Hogwarts and at any moment Snape’s going to come around and give me a detention.”

She laughed, then pressed her lips together. “I hate these,” she said, the admission shocking him. “You must think I’m awful, hiding away in here, but -.”

“I came in here to hide,” he said.

She glanced at the door. “Would it be too awful if I just... left?” she asked. “Standing up and being told how wonderful I am for not dying _again_ makes me... I know they mean well, but -.”

Theo gathered his courage as she talked and finally managed to say, “It would only be awful if we didn’t leave together.”

As lines went, it was pretty bad. Blaise would have laughed his arse off and said _that_ was why Theo was perpetually single. 

On the other hand, the proof of the pudding was in the eating, and who was he to knock what worked? 

A week later, when Hermione admitted, she used to stare at him in Arithmancy, he decided it had worked very well indeed. “You were just so _smart_,” she said, bare foot hooked along his. 

“And talented?” he suggested, pressing his lips back against her neck right at the spot he’d discovered made goose pimples rise all along her arms.

“Definitely talented,” she said.

He proceeded to demonstrate again how talented he was and decided that -- perhaps -- garden parties had some redeeming qualities.


End file.
